


Go Back and Rewind

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Human, Burlesque Dancer Aziraphale, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love at First Sight, No Beta, Sexual Fantasy, bartender crowley, but no actual smut, fan dance, i don't really know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: “I bet you’d be coming in your pants before her performance ends,” Anathema grinned. They laughed as he sputtered at the blatant undermining of his self control. Although he was already half-hard, he wasn’t ready to throw away his dignity that easily.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Go Back and Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> This might be a bit messy (like my life currently, 😅), but this plot bunny wouldn't leave my head and only way to tell it to go was to write the thing.
> 
> So, here goes!

“Oi! You dropped something!” Anthony Crowley called out to the petite blonde standing outside a darkened bookshop. He had been walking a good few feet from her when the ring of keys escaped her coat pocket as she struggled to keep her numerous bags in check - one hand clutching an overfilled tote with books and the other holding on to take out items with what smelled pleasantly like curry.

“Oh, thank you,” she smiled warmly at him and the sight of her clear, hazel eyes and soft, pink mouth brought his brain function to a stand-still.

“I don’t suppose you’d be opposed to helping me out one more time?” she asked shyly, batting her ridiculously long lashes at him, and gestured to the door.

“Ngk,” he grunted, not knowing how else to respond. Thankfully, his subconscious knew to take the cue and opened the doors for her. She brushed past his outstretched arms and he shivered at the warmth her smaller frame radiated.

“Do you like crepes?” she looked back at him as she settled her bags on the shop’s counter. “I do tend to buy too much food for one, so I’ve an extra box you could take. As ‘thank you’ for the help.”

“Er, I’m good,” his mouth finally mustered. “Not that I don’t want to!” he added hastily at her disappointed look. “I already ate and work starts in a few minutes, so...” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

“Perhaps some other time, then?” she hinted timidly albeit hopefully.

Crowley grinned, unable to help himself. “Might just have to take you up on that offer…”

“Aziraphale,” she supplied, blonde curls bouncing softly as she cocked her head with a smile.

“Crowley,” he replied, raising a hand but after finding the keys still in his clutches, tossed them to the nearest table and shoved hs wayward fingers into the pockets of his too-tight jeans.

“Pleasure to meet you, my dear,” Aziraphale giggled.

“Yeah, uhm. See you soon, angel,” he called out before almost running out the shop to keep from embarrassing himself further. The encounter left him giddy and a little dazed. He hadn’t far to go, at least, with the blonde staying a few shops from original his destination.

  
  


He almost whistled as he arranged the liquor bottles at his station. He’d been bartending at Tracy’s for just three days but it had been amazing so far. He patted the wood beneath his fingers, the counter worn smooth with time and the slide of a million glasses. He smiled as he scanned the cosy little lounge. The overstuffed seats were filled with the evening’s merry-makers. Jazz music filling the space with its upbeat spins on both the classics and the more popular modern songs. But Soho being Soho, the entertainment there was more than just that.

“How’re things here, lovie?” came a voice to his left. It was from an older woman in an eye-watering neon-green silk robe open to show off the tight-fitting, bright pink, leather pinny barely hiding her lacy lingerie and exposing her long fishnet-clad limbs. She perched herself daintily on a stool, showing off her bright red pumps. Her ginger hair, ruddier than his own, was tied back with a bow half the size of her head. 

The woman, Madame Tracy, was his new employer. She had been a show-girl some time in her younger years and had fallen in love with all the feathers, sequins and prancing around the stage that she decided to tend to her own quirky little burlesque lounge. And there Crowley found himself, putting his knowledge of alcohol to good use while gaggles of similarly (and sometimes more outlandishly) costumed performers galavanted their way around the floor and on the little stage up front. They were loud, they were over-the-top and Crowley had been entranced.

It was different from the usual clubs he’d been in and out of, and Madame Tracy did not ask him questions regarding his past employment, face tattoo, black nail polish and sunglasses. She barely even scanned his resume before announcing, “I’ve a feeling you’ll be the perfect addition to our little family.” Kindred spirits do find their kind, he supposed.

Crowley twisted in a manner no human spine ought to have been able to do to face the speaker and grinned. “The floor’s overflowing, booze flying off the shelves, met (and got a possible future date with) an angel, and Anathema’s too busy to poke fun at me, so I’d say the evening’s going bloody marvelous so far.”

“Glad to hear you’re doing splendid,” the Madame grinned back. “Now be a dear and hand me one of your best cocktails.”

With a two-fingered salute, Crowley turned to the racks of liquor to brew her a drink. Just as he reached for a glass, a familiar voice pricked his ears.

“I’m awfully sorry, I-”

He spun in place and caught  _ Aziraphale _ smiling sheepishly at Madame Tracy. Being professional, he abandoned his boss’s drink and slowly sunk to the floor to hide behind the beer taps. But his curiosity got the better of him and he resurfaced enough to peek out.

The bartender let himself gaze at the blonde more properly this time around, noticing her cream sweater over a baby blue shirt and of all things, a tartan bow tie sitting beneath her chubby chin. Her faded jeans hugged her hips snugly and bemoaned his position as he couldn’t see past that to her sexy legs. He contented himself instead by dragging his eyes back up, raking over the woman’s plush form, plotting the curve of her stomach, skimming over her full bust and landing, metaphorically, on a rosy cheek. He hissed at himself internally. How could this woman, bundled in her layers tug on his libido when there were more scantily clad men and women on the club floor. She looked very much out of place in the crowded bar.

“Running a little late there, dearie,” Madame Tracy chuckled as she kissed the blonde’s cheeks. “Yes, yes, you lost yourself in one of your books again, you can tell me all about it later but now off you shoo to the dressing rooms.” The girl nodded and left, leaving Crowley with a perfect view of her shapely bottom swaying slightly as she maneuvered around the tightly packed bodies and out of sight.

“If you’re drooling now, wait ‘til she gets onstage,” Anathema, the bar manager snorted, sneaking to stand beside him. He yelped, toppled over a nearby bottle of tequila with his elbow and doused his uniform with liquid. All he got for his troubles was a smirk from his supervisor and a rag to clean up the spill.

“She’s a performer? I thought she owns a bookshop,” he asked as disinterested as he could while he started cleaning up. He gave the stage a brief glance, noting the corseted, stockinged figures of the first few acts. He gulped, a blush threatening to overtake his face as his imagination promptly conjured up a similar outfit hugging plump thighs and a huge rack.

“You know her?” Anathema raised her eyebrows.

“Met her before clocking in,” he fidgeted in his spot as the women exchanged amused looks. “Gave her a little help and we got to talking, what’s wrong with that?!”  _ Nothing _ , that much he knew. He didn’t need to be defensive but he suddenly felt like a teenager again, caught red-handed mooning over a crush.

“My, my. That is interesting,” Madam Tracy chuckled knowingly.

“I bet you’d be coming in your pants before her performance ends,” Anathema grinned. They laughed as he sputtered at the blatant undermining of his self control. Although he was already half-hard, he wasn’t ready to throw away his dignity that easily.

“Who do you think I am?” he growled out before striking his best bad boy pose. The other two snickered. “A tenner from each of you then, when I don’t,” he pointed finger at them both to punctuate his point but they just cackled to acknowledge the deal.

He grumbled as he set back to his tasks, keeping himself distracted until he noticed the palpable tinge of anticipation in the air. The evening was already winding down and they reached the final show of the evening. When the lights dimmed, the room fell silent.

The saxophone began playing slurred and drawn out notes as the curtains rose revealing fluttering curtains on the stage and a blobby shadow from whoever was behind them. It slowly stirred, or rather fluttered, edges peeling away to reveal the silhouette of a curvaceous body holding large feathered fans outstretched as if they had wings. Crowley caught Anathema’s wink from the other end of the bar. Aziraphale. Right. He gulped.

The music swelled and suddenly the curtains were dropped to the floor, he saw her gasp in fake surprise and brought her fans down to cover what appeared to have been her very naked self. The crowd cheered and she answered with an exaggerated moue. Crowley acknowledged her playacting, noting how her makeup emphasized every little expression she let loose from her face. The band changed from a seductive to a more flirtatious and jaunty tune as the blonde began her routine.

Her body movements leaned more to the side of coquettishness but to the bartender, who was given this opportunity to juggle the image of the sweet angel from before alongside that of the tease currently flaunting her bare legs, it got sultrier by the second. He found himself fisting a hand hard enough for his knuckles to whiten as Aziraphale ever so subtly lowered a fan and a milky expanse of her back flashed before his eyes. She turned slowly, her bosom peeking from under an arm before another jerk had them hidden from his hungry eyes once more.

_ Would her skin taste sweet? _ He wondered.  _ Would it be warm if he pulled her towards his own chest? Would it gleam with sweat as he slowly urged her to move against him? Would it welcome his questing hands - trailing her spine, her shoulder blades, then her chest? Would her breasts spill over his large palm and long fingers? Would she let her squeeze them? Pinch her nipples? Would she cry out then urge his touch down her padded stomach, lower and lower, to the apex of her thighs? _

The angel on the stage twirled, sending a few white feathers escaping towards the captive audience, her grinning face blushing from the exertion. She made a few impressive high kicks, heels glinting from the stage lights, and landing gracefully on her toes. Crowley whimpered, a quiet enough sound, but he brought a fist up in a vain attempt to keep future ones at bay.

_ Would she keep her heels on as he bent her over the nearest table? Would he be allowed to nose at her calves? Would she shudder as he licked the underside of her knees? Would she let him nip her inner thighs? Mark them? Fuck them? Would her juices drip down towards his waiting tongue? How long could he even refrain from tasting her essence? _

The audience was hooting, clearly enjoying themselves. Crowley on the other hand was running out of breath.

_ What sounds would she make as he teased her? Could he make her scream? Would she demand he take her and fill her cunt? Would she want him slow and sensual or pound her ‘til she barely remembered her own name? _

His cock was aching, unconscious to the laughing crowd, drowning in his own fantasy.

_ Would she ask for more? Turn to lock her legs around his hips to bring him closer? Bring him in deeper? Or would she swing them over his shoulders, resting them by his ears and granting him better access to her slick folds? Should he push in hard? Pull out slow? Would her walls tighten around him to feel that delicious drag? Would her core pulse in anticipation as he readied his prick to carve its way back in? And again? And again? And again? And ag-- _

There was a grand finish - not him, though, thankfully not him or else Anathema would have been insufferable - with the band banging out the last notes, all the lights closing off just as Aziraphale threw the fans over the audience’s heads.

The claps didn’t stop even after the lamps were revived to show the vacated platform before them. Crowley groaned, torn between giving thanks that it ended before he soiled himself or cursing the timing before he got off. He was afraid that the slightest brush of his own trousers would tip him over the edge so he stayed where he was to keep from broadcasting the effect Aziraphale’s act had on him. 

Most of the patrons were already heading out. He only needed a few more minutes to compose himself, thinking of the most unflattering things he could remember, before he could even consider putting one foot in front of the other.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh no, I’d say it’s still pretty much up,” Madame Tracy smirked as she floated over, Anathema a step behind.

“So, what do you think?” his supervisor grinned.

“I think I’m owed a twenty,” he remarked matter-of-factly, flexing his fingers to let blood back in.

“Yeah, yeah,” Anathema snorted, looking pleased despite losing the bet. “Use it to buy yourself a drink. Looking a little  _ thirsty _ there, my friend,” she laughed.

“Since your gob won’t shut, answer me this, yeah?” he grumbled, pocketing the bills. “Why haven’t I seen her here before?”

“She only dances twice a week, love,” Madame Tracy waved his grouchiness away. “She has her little bookshop and, as fellow entrepreneurs, we have tea once a week. One time, we dared her to learn a routine. All in jest, you understand.”

“But she was actually fucking good,” Anathema crowed.

“Ugh, you’ll be leering over me when she comes in next won’t y--”

“Crowley?” the object of their talk gasped nearby.

“Gnhh. Hi,” he squeaked. 

“Oh, Good Lord,” she gulped. “You saw -”

“Yep,” he croaked.

“Sweetie, I’m telling you right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Anathema teased. Crowley wanted to sink through the floorboards.

“T-That’s…” the blonde paled.

“Dear, you’re looking peaky,” Madame Tracy took hold of her chin to fuss over her. “Back to the bookshop with you. Crowley’ll walk you back, or else,” she turned to the bartender. But instead of a reproving look, she shot him a sly wink.

Knowing full well he couldn’t refuse (well, he actually could but no amount of banter could make his boss decide he’s unfireable and pathetic as it may have sounded, he  _ wanted _ to walk Aziraphale home), Crowley went to grab his things and soon found himself treading the sidewalk alongside the twitchy angel. He valiantly lassoed all memory of her dancing and shut them away to the very back of his mind- he'd go back to them after he's hidden himself in bed. They maintained the awkward silence until they reentered the bookshop - a parody of their meeting earlier that night.

“It definitely is a small world,” the blonde chuckled nervously, eyes locked on the far wall and not on the red-head behind her. “Rather ineffable circumstances, I’d say for you to, uh, encounter me at the Madame’s. It’s not that I’m not proud of what I do, but it does come as a shock to some. I love dancing and there’s such creative freedom there, and well… It would have been quite a surprise to you, but truly, I will understand if you wouldn’t want to talk to me again. We could keep things strictly professional. Wouldn’t even need to talk ever again. I--”

“Crêpes,” Crowley blurted out. The blonde had been rambling and although he could only see her back, he knew she must have been frowning. It would have been an insult to the universe if he didn't try and stop her.

“Pardon?” she turned back in confusion, finally making eye contact.

“Mrp,” he garbled out then hastily corrected himself. “I said ‘crêpes’. We- uh- I, well, I mean you--” he resisted the urge to back his head on the door. Trying once more, he straightened his back, removed his glasses and asked, “Is that offer to share crêpes still available?”

The blonde reddened, her mouth forming the perfect ‘o’ in the aftermath of his mess of a speech.

“You’d - you’d still want to?” she managed to cough out.

“Weeeeelllllll,” the other started. “I mean only if  _ you  _ wanted to. I can bugger off if you’d like. Just, erm, say the word and all that...” He was losing his rhythm and he soon petered out into worried peeps..

“I’d like that,” Aziraphale finally answered, the semblance of a soft smile starting to come through. Although, I’m afraid I ate them all.”

“Leave it to me, angel. I somehow found myself twenty pounds richer this evening,” Crowley grinned in reply, shoulders finally relaxing. “Let me call in an order and we can do this the way the evening should have properly started.”

“Of course,” she stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “Sounds like a marvelous idea, dear boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think. 😁


End file.
